April Fool’s Day: A serious message on this day of foolery

Editor’s note: This article appeared in the April Fool’s issue of the Tufts Daily, where articles are intended as satire and are not meant to be taken as serious journalism. All information in the following article, however, is factually accurate, with obvious bias towards the Tufts women’s basketball team. Happy April Fools Day.

We hope you are enjoying this year’s issue and are pleased with the giant Sudoku. But there are some things that are just too important to joke about. So as a sports section — hell as your student newspaper — there is something we need to tell you. If you are not absolutely pumped for the national championship game on April 4, then get the fuck out. Seriously, as the kids say, GTFO (yes, we are allowed to curse in this issue, and you bet your nerd ass we will).

If your first question is “what national championship on April 4?” then shut the fuck up. There’s the door. Transfer to some safety school. We hear Conn. College is accepting applications.

For the rest of you, get fucking pumped. Want drama? The Jumbos are taking on the Thomas More Saints a year after falling to them in the Final Four. It was the second straight year they just missed the championship game, and now they’re in it. If that doesn’t make you want to run through a wall, then I don’t know what will.

Want a scene where a young upstart coolly nods at her mentor and mouths, “I got this,” in a cool manner? You got it. The NCAA is honoring the 35th national championship game by having all three divisions play at the same venue in Indianapolis, so coach Carla Berube’s old coach Geno Auriemma will be there. And while you think, “this is a really cool reunion of two members of the famed 1995 UConn national championship team that changed the sport forever,” you will quickly remember to stop thinking about the past. The present is too awesome.

Because the present is Emma Roberson. You know that scene in “The Avengers” when Captain America defends New Yorkers from those alien dudes? That’s Roberson playing defense. Locking down the perimeter like a damn American hero.

And Michela North? She is ready to destroy whatever poor soul ventures into the post. Want to see an individual devoid of joy and hope? Watch a big being posted up by North.

Also, two words: Lauren Dillon. She decided to be even meaner to defense by making an already solid jumper into an awesome one, and Josie Lee would literally walk through a fucking wall of fire if it meant she could get a loose ball. She will also break your damn nose if you get in her damn way.

This is just a snapshot of the Jumbos who are going to be representing your school while you’re being a nerd at Tisch or sitting in some shitty recitation for a poli sci class you have no idea why you’re taking.

And who is Thomas More’s best player? Sydney Moss. Yes, daughter of Randy. She dropped 39 points on Amherst in the Final Four. First, fuck Amherst. Second, that may be a lot of points, but Melissa Baptista is ready to kick her ass on the boards all game. Moss is the reigning national player of the year. Thomas More won the national championship last year. Who gives a shit? The school is named after some weirdo who wrote about some imaginary islands. That’s weird as shit. Fuck that guy.

So what should you do on Monday? Get your buddies together. Don’t have buddies? Join some clubs — they’re a great way to make new friends. Anyway, get your buddies, grab some 30-racks and get hammered. Seriously, get hammered, it’s the least you can do for this school that for some shitty reason accepted your stupid ass despite the fact that you blatantly over-exaggerated your extracurriculars. (Secretary of Physics Club? Fuck you, you sent out one damn email the whole year.) Get hammered and get loud. Make sure that kid that lives down the hall and never seems to shower and wears that same ironic t-shirt every day can hear you scream. In fact, invite that kid to hang with you. He probably needs friends, and it doesn’t cost anything to be nice.

Basically, what we are trying to say is that it is the fucking National Fucking Championship game. If you’re not pumped then fuck you. Let’s run through a fucking brick wall.